


It's Not Jealousy

by QueenCamellia



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: F/M, Jealousy, Modern Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 22:52:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13133880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenCamellia/pseuds/QueenCamellia
Summary: Grey isn't jealous: he's merely concerned for her well-being. It's not HIS fault that all of her dates don't deserve her.[or: the jealous!AU + modern company AU + besties AU]“And she kissed him! On the cheek! Can you believe that?”“Oh no, a twenty-three years old woman kissing a man on a cheek. How scandalous.""Exactly!"





	It's Not Jealousy

“Would you like to go out sometime?”

Ronald Knox stands before her, hands shoved in his pockets uncomfortably. He’s shifting his weight from one foot to another, as if trying to distract himself from Midford’s piercing gaze.

Grey, from his cubicle, nearly spits out his tea. Instead of performing such an undignified gesture, he carefully sets down his mug and glares _daggers_ at the boy from the Reapers’ department. He leans back in his chair casually, hands behind his neck, as if he’s slightly amused by the sudden proposal. Internally, he’s critically scanning this...this _moron_ from head to toe.

Knox’s clothes are wrinkled, a testament to his easygoing and rambunctious nature, and his hair is messy. Some may call the look ‘casually charming’, but Grey’s always disliked such a look. To him, ‘effortlessly handsome’ does not equate to ‘lazily sloppy’. Grey’s heard the women of their company sing praises about the man’s charismatic and gentlemanly nature. He also, at one point, rather enjoyed the ginger’s presence; Knox’s flirty and lighthearted nature is a breath of fresh air when the most Grey sees all day is stuffy Phantomhives.

All of that is moot, now, since the ginger’s violated the golden rule.

 _Nobody_ — and Grey means _nobody_ — asks out Elizabeth Midford unless they’re worthy of her.

And, in Grey’s eyes, nobody is; especially not this little cheeky _upstart_.

Grey’s always been a keen observer, which is why he catches Phipps’ stern look. He’s not pulling any stops in showing his blatant disapproval of Grey’s antipathy: the stern look includes raised eyebrows, pressed frown, and all.

Midford giggles. _Giggles_. At this _stupid_ excuse of a boy who’s hardly graduated from internship. Tch.

“Sure,” she accepts saccharinely, beaming at the ginger. She’s always been too kind for her own good; ever since high school she’s accepted dates left and right just because she’s too benevolent to turn them down directly without giving them a chance. Midford’s a strong, independent woman (Grey should know: he’s dueled her in the fencing arena plenty of times), but she needs somebody to look out for her and vet her dates.

Grey’s glare deepens, and Knox is lucky enough to not notice his venomous gaze. He’s too busy smirking and _winking_ (the _nerve!_ ) at the blonde. “Perfect,” Knox says, popping the ‘p’. “Tuesday alright with you?”

Midford’s still smiling at the prick. “Of course.”

“Italian?”

“You know me well,” she laughs, but Grey knows she’s just indulging him. She likes French more.

When the ginger bounds off to the Reapers’ department once more, she turns and spots Grey’s gaze. He nods grudgingly in acknowledgement. She beams at him, then sends him a thumbs-up and somewhat bewildered look that spells ‘ _I got a date!’_

Grey smirks at her, shrugs, and turns back to his work. When he’s sure she’s not staring at him any longer, his smirk drops and his scowl is present for the rest of the day.

_I know._

 

* * *

 

 

“Your cousin got a date,” Grey informs the Phantomhive twins pleasantly. Phantomhive and Ciel (they both prefer to be called ‘Ciel’, now, but Grey’s known the fake Ciel longer and thus refers to him as ‘Ciel’) are tapping away at their computers, barely even glancing up.

“We _know_ ,” Ciel says irritably. He clicks the ‘send’ button before closing his email, spinning around in his chair to face Grey. There’s not exactly anger in his eyes, but his scowl says it all. “What does she see in that Knox, anyways?”

“He’s insufferable,” Phantomhive agrees without looking up from his work. He mutters some dark curse under his breath and types furiously.

There’s a beat of silence. Then, Grey says firmly, “We need a plan.”

“We do,” Phantomhive agrees, finally looking up from his work. An evil smirk pulls on his lips as he clasps his hands together. His azure eyes are glittering with mischief and a thirst for _vengeance_. “And I have an idea.”

 

* * *

 

 

“So, Lizzy, where are you going with Knox?”

“Don’t even _think_ about it, Ciel.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Knox is a bastard.”

“ _Grey!”_

“It’s _true_. Mey-Rin told me so.”

“Listen, Grey, I know that you’re trying to look out for me, but I can take care of myself. Ronald is a perfectly sweet gentleman, thank you very much. Don’t you dare talk to me about this again.”

“...”

“And don’t you _dare_ try talking _him_ out of it.”

“...damn it.”

 

* * *

 

 

“...I don’t think you should go on a date with him, Elizabeth.”

“Ciel, not you too.”

“He interfered with Sebastian’s investigation!”

“He was intruding on _private property_ , for god’s sake! Will you three please stop bothering me about this?”

“...”

“...Ciel, stop sulking. _No_ , Ciel, don’t you _dare_ pull those puppy eyes on me. Now, go find Sebastian and sit down.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Can you tell your partner to stand down?”

Phipps pauses, turning away from his computer to stare at Elizabeth Midford in surprise. “Pardon?”

“Grey’s been bothering me for the past weekend about my date with Ronald, and the date’s tomorrow. Thankfully he hasn’t been scared off by my cousins yet, but Grey’s dogmatically persisting that my date’s a...well, not that great of a date,” Elizabeth explains. “It’s been awhile since I’ve been asked out, you know, and Ronald’s a nice person.”

Phipps hesitates, trying to decide what he should say. Finally, he shrugs and acquiesces. Elizabeth is a pleasant person to work with, and she’s one of the few coworkers who doesn’t judge him for bringing his sewing kit to work.  “I make no promises, but I’ll talk to him about it.”

“Thank you,” she says, profusely grateful and relieved.

The conversation could probably end there, but Phipps knows he has a duty to his friend. Sighing, he asks, “So are you interested in Ronald Knox?”

Elizabeth bites her lip. “He’s a nice person, but not particularly,” she admits. “But I’m sure my opinion can change with a few dates.”

Phipps hums noncommittally.

“Is that...bad?” Elizabeth asks hesitantly. If he was Grey, he would’ve immediately replied that _yes, she should ditch him if she’s not interested_.

But he’s not, which is why he shrugs. Knox should be given a chance. “I have no room to judge you,” he replies.

Elizabeth is visibly relieved. Out of the corner of his eye, Phipps spots Grey glaring suspiciously at them, no doubt attempting to eavesdrop on the conversation but to no avail; he’s sitting too far away.

 _“She’s a girl I’ve known from a fencing academy for a few years, sure. She’s also my videogaming partner. But that doesn’t mean I_ like _her: she’s just a friend,”_ Grey told him in the past when asked about Elizabeth. _“I’m just worried about her, not_ interested _in her. You’re seeing things.”_

Phipps can’t help himself; he rolls his eyes.

Just friends, _hah._ What utter bullshit.

 

* * *

 

 

The doorbell rings, and she hurries to the entrance and swings the door open. She’s met with a smiling face and bouquet of flowers.

“Hey, Midford!”

Lizzy’s beyond delighted. It’s been about a year since anyone’s dared to approach her. It’s been about two years since her date actually came to pick her up. She’s not exactly sure why — Lizzy thinks she’s a rather decent catch, and _sure_ , her cousins might be a little overbearing, but they respect her decision and don’t interfere once she scolds them.

“Ronald,” she says in return, smiling at him. “Nice to see you.”

“I didn’t leave you waiting too long, did I?” he asks apologetically, handing her the flowers. “I was busy grabbing these.”

She accepts the offering graciously, oblivious to her cousins’ and Grey’s whispering. They came over to give her “support”, but considering her threats, she’s fairly sure they won’t interfere with her date.

_(“He got her flowers. That’s a plus. Six out of ten.”)_

_(“What are you talking about, Phantomhive? He’s late. Three out of ten, tops.”)_

_(“But he got her roses. Five.”)_

_(“They’re red roses. You know that she likes white ones more. Four.”)_

_(“You’re being unusually harsh, earl.”)_

_(“Shut up, Phantomhive.”)_

“You look lovely,” Knox compliments, extending his hand. “Shall we be off?”

_(“Five, at least.”)_

_(“Four.”)_

She preens under his praise. “Sure. Italian, right?”

“Already made the reservation,” Ronald confirms.

 

* * *

 

 

“And she _kissed him!_ On the _cheek_! Can you believe that?”

“Oh no, a twenty-three years old woman kissing a man on a cheek. How scandalous,” Phipps deadpans.

Grey is completely oblivious to Phipps’ obvious sarcasm. “ _Exactly_ ,” he insists, pleased that his companion understands. He pauses, nodding in acknowledgment as the bartender slips him another glass of alcohol. Grey is stress-drinking; his annoyance combined with his ravenous appetite is quickly piling up in the form of emptied glasses. “And because they were in a restaurant, the most we could do was mess up his order and spill his wine on him. Serves him right; what kind of bastard drinks red wine on a first date?”

Phipps sighs, taking a brief sip of his own drink. He emphasizes, “They were at a _formal Italian dinner._ ”

 _“Yeah_. Midford doesn’t even _like_ Italian that much.” Grey nods, satisfied that his partner understands.

Phipps briefly considers throttling his companion, but realizes that the paperwork would be too much trouble to fill out.

“Grey,” he says patiently, “If you don’t approve of Elizabeth’s dates, why don’t you find her one yourself?”

“Midford is perfectly capable of finding a date herself,” Grey snorts, taking a swig of beer. “Why would I find one for her?”

“Why don’t you find _yourself_?” Phipps suggests.

Grey nearly spits out his alcohol. “ _Myself?_ ” the silver-haired man sputters disbelievingly. “Phipps, have you gone _mad_?”

“Not really.”

“Then why on Earth would you say something like that?”

Phipps decides to give up. The alcohol’s bestowed upon him the courage to face Grey’s wrath. “There’s a betting pool going on at the office,” he admits. “And I bet a hundred dollars that you two would get together before Christmas. I’d rather not let that money go to waste”

For once in his life, Grey is absolutely speechless. He opens his mouth, but is too stunned for any words to escape his lips. In any other situation, Phipps would have laughed. Right now, however, he’s a bit apprehensive.

Finally, Grey seems to have gathered enough of his wits to say incredulously, “ _Phipps?_ ” His voice is strangled as he stares at his friend.

“Yes. I _am_ Phipps,” Phipps confirms, smiling.

“You...you…”

“Yes…?”

“...you _traitor_!” Grey shrieks, making several people in the bar look up. Phipps purposely rolls his eyes and makes an exaggerated shrug to indicate that things are alright. Most look away and mind their business. Some observe Grey before concluding that he’s no threat (a common misconception: Phipps still remembers the many bullies Grey’s apprehended because of their assumptions that the petite boy would be an easy target).

Phipps laughs hesitantly, knowing that he’s treading on shallow ice. “Grey…”

“You _bet_ on Midford and I becoming a couple?” Grey asks, his voice bordering on the fine line between shock and absolute hysteria.

“So did the Phantomhive twins,” Phipps says, hoping it’ll get Grey off his back.

“Oh, and when did they bet? Thanksgiving?” Grey sneers. “Yeah, right. Those two would never—”

“By Valentine’s Day, actually,” Phipps corrects automatically.

Grey pauses, studies Phipps expression, and concludes that Phipps is not joking. He’s been friends long enough with Phipps to read his facial expression. “ _Seriously?”_

Phipps winces at the volume. “Yes, seriously.”

Grey lets out a sound that can most accurately be described as a cross between a moan and a hiss. “What the hell? I thought you knew me better than that, Phipps. Midford’s a friend, not a potential _love interest_ . She’s not even my type. Much too obstinate. And those _traitors_ …” Grey’s rant dissolves into inaudible mutters about betrayal and stupid Phantomhives.

Phipps sighs loudly and signals for the bartender to bring him another drink.

 

* * *

 

 

Midford arrives at his house and he’s already prepared. The company rumor mill works _fast_ , after all. He didn’t even need to run to the grocery shop to prepare, considering the amount of times she’s come over to get destroyed by Grey’s superior video gaming skills. When Grey opens the door, she blurts out, “He broke up with me.” She looks lost and utterly confused.

“He wasn’t worth your time, anyways,” Grey says dismissively, guiding her inside. Signalling for her to crash on the couch, he strides into the kitchen and pulls out a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream. “How many this time? Two scoops? Three?”

“The whole tub,” Midford says miserably, and Grey blinks, craning his neck to look at her. This is _bad_.

“Okay,” he agrees, pulling out a tub of rocky road for himself. He also grabs several bottles of wine, two glass cups, and two spoons. Returning to her side, offerings in his hands, he sets down the tubs of ice cream and pops open the first bottle. At her questioning gaze, he tilts his head and smirks.

“Nothing better than a drink to cure heartache,” he claims arrogantly, pouring a glass and handing it to her. She grabs it, somewhat apprehensive, but seemingly decides to throw all caution to the wind and manages to empty the cup in one down. Grey nonchalantly refills it before filling his own.

“Drinking competition?” He suggests.

Lizz— _Midford_ snorts, taking another sip. “ _Please_ , I’d rather not _._ Compared to you, everyone else looks like a lightweight. It’s a miracle you haven’t died of alcohol poisoning, yet.”

He shrugs, prying open the tubs of ice cream and handing her the mint tub along with a spoon. “What can you say? Fate loves me too much to allow me to die from such a mundane cause.”

Midford rolls her eyes at his antics and turns on the TV, snatching a remote from the table. Video gaming competition it is.

“You know,” Grey says later, attempting to maintain his two-hundred hit combo, “You don’t need to accept every sorry sod who asks you out. You deserve better.” _You deserve the best._

“If I attempt to pick my men by your standards, Grey, I’d end up a bitter, unmarried spinster.”

“Better than unhappy and married to someone who clearly doesn’t deserve you.”

Lizzy— _Midford, damn it_ — pauses, staring at him contemplatively. Grey takes that opportunity to deliver his final strike and win the round. Their rather grim conversation is buried underneath playful banter and indignant protests. (Or so Grey thinks: Lizzy contemplates their conversation later while tucked in bed, wondering why she can’t stop thinking of silver eyes.)

 

* * *

 

 

“Why the _fuck_ would you ever break up with her?”

Ronald Knox pauses, about to bite into his sandwich. Then, he carefully sets it down and turns around to face an irate Charles Grey. He’s been expecting this encounter for awhile, but the majority of his work day’s gone on without incident and Ronald had been half convinced he’d leave the company alive.

“Why don’t we take this into the coffee room?” Ronald suggests, cheerful grin still on his face. Grey grudgingly acquiesces, a prevalent scowl on his face.

As soon as the door shuts, Ronald scoots a few feet away from the livid man for his safety. “Liz is amazing, don’t get me wrong,” he starts out, refusing to quell under his glare. “She’s beautiful, kind, funny, and smart.”

“Then why did you—”

“But she doesn’t love me,” Ronald finishes. “I realized that she loves somebody else, and I’m not going to be the guy who stops her from being happy.”

Grey looks like he’s at a loss for words. “She’s...what?”

“You’ll figure it out eventually.” Ronald shrugs, then uses the silver-haired man’s shock as an opportunity to hightail it out of there before Grey can reconsider murdering him.

 

* * *

 

 

“Finny!”

Heads turn at the sound of Elizabeth Midford’s melodic, cheery voice. Grey is no exception, although he conceals his bemusement much more than an open-mouthed Finnian.

“M-Miss Lizzy?” the blonde stammers with rounded eyes.

“Oh, great. I was hoping you were here,” Lizzy beams, her eyes shining a little too brightly at the boy for Grey’s taste. She leans closer to the blonde, whispering something conspiratorially under her breath. Grey doesn’t even try to strain his ears to listen to her whispers: Lizzy’s keeping a smug eye pinned on him, as if she knows what he’s thinking. Instead, Grey decides to observe Finny’s facial expressions. The blonde is incapable of hiding his emotions, so it’s easy to identify his shock, embarrassment, and hesitant agreement. “Cool, so does seven work for you?”

“T-that’s fine.”

“Great. I’ll make a reservation at a nearby restaurant.”

Grey blinks, stupefied, then cranes his head to look at a similarly dumbstruck pair of Phantomhive twins. “Did she just…?”

“...ask Finny on a date? I believe so,” Ciel confirms, a dazed expression on his face.

“And she _knows_ that we’re working overtime today,” Phantomhive growls, narrowing his eyes. “Grey, we’re leaving this to you.”

Grey rolls his eyes. “What do you take me for, a dog? I don’t take orders from the likes of you.”

“Lizzy’s _never_ asked out a boy before,” Ciel emphasizes, scrutinizing Finny from head to toe.

Grey sighs irritably, then pulls out his phone to text Phipps in order to cancel their drinking plans and ask for help. Such serious operations require extra backup.

 

* * *

 

 

“Run the plan by me again?”

“Since Midford’s clinging onto the boy, we’ll have to corner him alone once she goes to the washroom. Just spill some wine on her dress; not too much, mind you, and make sure it’s in a noticeable area that can’t be covered by a jacket. We don’t want to be _giving_ him opportunities, you know.” Grey hardly looks up as he examines the silk white gloves adorning his hands. “I’ve already paid for the bill, so once we force him to ditch her, we’ll take her home.”

If it had been _any_ other occasion, Phipps would’ve laughed at the sheer _seriousness_ in his friend’s tone. Charles Grey is rarely serious about any matters, whether it be job interviews to business presentations. But currently, it’s a little more _pathetic_ than amusing, if he’s to be completely honest.

“Grey, why don’t you just leave them alone?”

Grey gives him a scandalized look. “Who? Midford and... _that_?”

“ _That_ has a name, and he’s been working in the same department as you for the past three years,” Phipps deadpans. “He’s a nice person.”

“Exactly!” Grey crosses his arms over his chest. “He’s _too_ nice, you hear me? Midford will get bored with him in a matter of weeks, but by then she’ll feel too bad to break off the relationship and she’ll be miserable for life.”

Phipps snorts. “I think you’re exaggerating. Just a bit.”

“Not at all,” Grey sniffs arrogantly. “Now, shoo and fix your hair. Phantomhive didn’t give us these disguises for nothing.”

 

* * *

 

 

“That little _shit_ ,” Grey fumes.

“Just avoiding your...multiple attempts at sabotage...hardly warrants such an insult,” Phipps warns.

“I swear, Midford fucking _smirked_ at me!”

“You’re wearing a disguise, Grey. As unpleasant as it was putting it on, I admit that Phantomhive’s disguises are well-designed. She shouldn’t have recognized you.”

“But she definitely _did_!”

“Oh look, they’re about to kiss,” Phipps drolls.

This is when something truly miraculous happens.

Grey freezes in his tracks, the queerest expression on his face, then pivots on his heel, rips his wig off, and stomps out of the backroom and into the dining area. Phipps is too afraid to follow, but Grey’s unholy screeches are loud enough for him to gather enough of the situation.

 _“Midford!_ Why in the actual hell would you like this guy? I thought you told me that blondes aren't your type.”

The very noticeable absence of chatter in the dining room. Then…

“They aren’t.” Lizzy’s voice is calm and collected, a blatant contrast to Grey’s near hysterical tone.

“Well then, why _him?_ You told me yourself that he was like a little brother to you.”

“He is.” There’s a lilt of amusement in her words.

“Then wh—?”

Whatever Grey’s about to say is cut off abruptly. Phipps cringes, peeking outside and fully expecting to see a knife embedded in his silver-haired friend’s head. Instead...well…

... _oh._

Phipps pauses, pulls out his phone, snaps a picture of one Elizabeth Midford and one Charles Grey making out, and sends it to the company group chat.

 

 

> _Charles Phipps [9:23]: You owe me a hundred, Phantomhive._
> 
> _Real Phantomhive [9:23]: ...fuck you._
> 
> _Her Majesty [9:24]: Language! (I bet New Years. Cough up the 200.)_
> 
> _DeAtH [9:24]: Awww, how cute! Say, Se~bas~chan, how about we meet there sometime? ;D_
> 
> _Hell of a Butler [9:25]: I’m afraid I’ll have to pass. (I believe I bet on this very day. Check with Agni if you don’t believe me.)_
> 
> _W.T. Spears [9:25]: Please congratulate them both on my behalf. Am I to assume that her propositioning Finny was a ploy?_
> 
> _Agni [9:25]: Yes. She consulted me of the matter._
> 
> _Golden Eyed Sniper [9:25]: Oooh, ask them when the wedding will be!!!_
> 
> _“Ciel” [9:26]: A hundred on next Christmas._
> 
> _Lawnmowers have Feelings Too [9:26]: Hah, have you seen them? A hundred on July._
> 
> _“Ciel” [9:26]: ...who’s going to tell Edward about this new development?_
> 
> _W.T.Spears [9:26]: I believe that Mr. Soma’s bet was the farthest off. Will we delegate this duty to him?_
> 
> _Hell of a Butler [9:26]: Agreed._
> 
> _Real Phantomhive [9:26]: That works._
> 
> _GryffindorPrince [9:26]: !!! Wait, no! That’s a death sentence. One of you guys do it instead._
> 
> _GryffindorPrince [9:28]: …_
> 
> _GryffindorPrince [9:30]: Damn it. I hate you all._

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas! Take this GreyLizzy fluff and begone. :)


End file.
